Scars Last an Eternity
by TheFullmetalSociopath
Summary: Wang Yao has lived a long life, and he has the scars to prove it. And as always, every scar tells a story. Some scars tell longer stories than others, though, and those are the ones that truly hurt, both the body and the soul. Those scars, inevitably, will last as long as their stories. An eternity. -This fic features historical hetalia, immortal china, and is a bit dark at times-
1. A Death March for Four Hundred and Sixty

**Hi Everyone!**

 **So, in this fic…**

 **Jk, almost nobody reads the AN. For those of you tuning in, R &R and F&F, see ya on the other side, and let's get crackin.**

 **More on this story if you want some background and clarification at the end of this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Chinese history.**

* * *

 _Scars Last an Eternity_

 _~First Scar~_

 _Chapter 1: A Death March for Four Hundred and Sixty Souls_

"Hey, Yao, what's that little scar on your temple from?" Yao's friend, Chen, asked curiously, wide eyes innocent and inquisitive. He always seemed to act like a child, but at this point Yao really couldn't tell if it was because Chen actually acted like a child, or rather if Yao just saw him as such.

Even though they were both 'the same age,' according to every current legal document, at least, Chen always acted like Yao was older, wiser, and asked him questions like this surprisingly often. Though, sometimes Yao would actually answer with the truth, and then all he would get was a wide eyed glance, a brief thoughtful moment, followed by a flash of 'realization,' and topped off with an incredulous laugh and a fervent eye roll. Occasionally accompanied by a "Yao, your jokes are so creative!" or "Really, Yao, your tall tales get out of hand" sometimes even "Look, Yao, I know you study history and everything, but you're taking things too far" and more recently "Seriously, Yao, you need to stop. This is getting old. I asked you a real question."

At which point Yao would just lie, and that always ended up sounding like the truth, so he rolled with it. But he would be lying if he didn't like messing with humans, especially ones he knew well.

He grinned, a mischievous glint coming to his eyes that made Chen visibly slump and sigh in what may be the universal sign for "oh no here we go."

" _Well,_ Chen, I am so glad you asked, see I got this little bastard all the way back in…"

* * *

 _~ 212 BC ~_

 _Under the Reign of Emperor Qin Shi Huang_

* * *

The scholar was silent, awaiting his fate. He knew what was coming, had heard the whispers. He had whispered a few himself. It did not help, not one bit, when death brushed it's rough, coarse lips across his ear and murmured to him.

 _The end approaches._

 _You cannot stop it._

Footsteps pounded outside his door. He heard a thunder in his ears, some sort of roar that would haunt his nightmares, however many he had left.

 _They are here._

 _You cannot run._

They surrounded him, the soldiers. They seized him roughly, hauling him from his seat, dragging him from his home. They left scattered papers and splattered ink in their wake, splintered wood and broken dishes.

 _This is the end._

 _See it?_

 _You will soon._

The scholar was numb as he was hauled onto a cart, with others like him, those scholars who dared a word against their perfect emperor.

He was surrounded by those who dared to whisper.

And he would die among them.

* * *

If the scholar had not anticipated one thing, when imagining the grueling journey to the capital, to his imminent doom, it would be the loudly complaining man beside him. The loudly complaining man who, at the moment, seemed to have no grasp of how ominous there situation was, and instead was in the risky process of pestering one of the soldiers for some water, or a bite to eat.

The scholar couldn't help but wonder if this man was insane. And, at least for a brief moment, what it meant that he was riding alongside him, obviously of the same kind, assuming this death march of theirs wasn't taking any pit stops to drop off psychotic passengers.

Two hours and what felt like a lifetime or a second later, the scholar couldn't tell, the Insane Scholar, as he had dubbed the man (because he was obviously a man of the same learning despite his, er, presumed mental state), turned to the scholar and decided to strike up a friendly, casual conversation.

You know, as if they weren't going to their deaths.

"So, what's your name, my friend?" the Insane Scholar asked, as nonchalant as if they were discussing the weather or the latest harvest.

The scholar barely even responded, he was so taken aback by the direct interaction. "Yin Chen," he said, apprehension lacing his voice. "And yours?" Internally, Yin Chen cringed. Now he would have to keep up a conversation with this man.

"Wang Yao," the man said happily. "And I'll assume we both came to be riding this wonderful caravan by the same relative means, yes?" he inquired rather loudly. A soldier glared in their direction, eyes narrowing in warning.

"Sush," Yin Chen hissed, focusing on the floor, "or you'll earn yourself, and perhaps me, an early death."

"Hmm, I mean, is it not true that we will die anyway? What's the harm?" the man, Wang Yao, asked. There may have been a grain of truth in his words, but that did not mean Yin Chen was ready for death. Not in the least.

"How so?" Chen asked, attempting to sound disinterested as he willed the soldier away.

"My friend, even if we die early, is it not true that whatever we would face here would seem to be soft cherry blossoms compared to what the emperor has awaiting us?" Wan Yao asked again, in that absurd, insane way of his. That absurd way, which, as Chen was starting to realize, held a vast amount of knowledge behind its ludicrous exterior.

If Chen were not in such a terrifying situation at the moment, he may have even called it worrying. Far too sharp, far too accurate, cutting straight to the truth. Dangerous.

"Just," Chen struggled to keep his voice low as anger and fear surged through him, mutating into some mute form of raging panic. He took a deep breath. "Just, please, don't provoke them. If not for your sake, for mine." He had meant the last statement to be strong, urgent even, but it barely escaped his mouth, emerging as a strangled whisper.

Surprisingly enough, Wang Yao was silent for the remainder of the trip.

* * *

Each statement hit Yin Chen like an arrow, thudding into him with deadly accuracy, with force enough to knock him to his knees ten times over.

"The entirety of 460 scholars were found guilty of treason against the emperor."

 _This is where whispers have lead you._

"In accordance with this atrocious act, all those involved shall be executed."

 _This is your doom. Your oblivion. You see it, finally?_

"On this day, 460 scholars will be buried alive."

 _And your whispers will finally be smothered._

 _Die among the earth you came from._

"Wow, tough crowd," Wang Yao muttered under his breath, leaning close to Chen's ear. Yin Chen hurriedly jabbed his heel into Wang Yao's toe, silencing him at the cost of a minute yelp. Wang Yao, wise, what had he been thinking earlier? It must have been exhaustion, or shock. The man before him now, making joking, not to mention _highly treasonous,_ comments as they were being _herded to their very graves_ , was simply and absolutely a lunatic!

The next few minutes were all of a blur, something that his mind likely filtered out due to the unreality of the moments leading up to one's death. Was it like this, for the others? The next things Yin Chen's mind registered were warm bodies, grating soil, and the constant _scrape_ of hundreds of shovels.

He was being buried alive.

No matter what he may have said before then, no matter what defiance or acceptance had fleeted through his mind prior to this moment, Yin Chen was terrified. So terrified that, as he was being covered in dirt, packed in shoulder to shoulder and over top and under other scholars, that all traces of sanity left him. He began to struggle, thrashing so fruitlessly and violently that a grunt of pain, startlingly familiar, sounded from the body above him. Yin Chen stilled.

"Wang Yao…?" he asked hesitantly.

"Ow…" came the reply. "Did you really have to kick me? Your knees are bony."

"Uh…" Yin Chen didn't know how to respond. They were currently in the process of dying, the shovels persistently working to ensure that, but what else should Yin Chen have expected from Wang Yao?

"Hey, you!" a gruff voice barked from above, "await your death mutely, like a man."

 _Clang!_

Wang Yao had been closer to the surface of their soon-to-be mass grave than Yin Chen had thought.

Oh well, at least he would be spared the horror of a slow, suffocating death by that shovel that had knocked him out. Yin Chen only wished that could have been him.

As it was, Yin Chen's head soon grew fuzzy, and his consciousness faded to whispers of shovels and earth.

* * *

 **For y'all lovely souls who read the top, or maybe you just read the story, are confused, and want some more info on the subject matter. Good for you! Welcome to my little explaining corner, where I will inform you on exactly what the hell is going on in my fic.**

 **Basis: This refers to the reign of emperor Qin Shi Huang Di, specifically the event called "burning of books and burying of scholars," where- you guessed it!- books were burned and scholars were buried. 460 scholars to be exact, because the emperor caught wind that they were speaking treasonously. This fic is based loosely around a few tumblr posts I absolutely loved, by stirringwind, I believe, which features immortal china and his many attempted assassinations.**

 **My personal flair: Okay guys, this is where I tell you some things that I changed up with this story. In this sorta-kinda AU, all nations go by their human names and attempt to blend in with human society as best as possible. I imagine China as being one of, if not** _ **the**_ **first nation to actually work directly for their ruler.**

 **Bit of a warning: I haven't really watched much of Hetalia, I just really love historical hetalia (with a dash of dark hetalia) and wanted to try my hand at it, so China may be a bit OOC. (y'all readers know Wang Yao=China, right?)**

 **Okay, that's all. To anyone who made it through that lengthy AN, congrats! I will now request some feedback in the form of reviews, and also follows and favorites. Let me know if I'm getting anything wrong. And, now I will tell you thank you.**

 **Thank you guys!**

 **Lot's of love,**

 **~TheFullmetalSociopath**


	2. Torturous Miracles

**Hello again!**

 **Yada yada yada, if you wanna know more background on this fic, go to the bottom, as always. Please R &R and F&F. **

**Let's do this.**

* * *

 _Scars Last an Eternity_

 _~First Scar~_

 _Chapter 2: Torturous Miracles_

Darkness. That was all he was aware of. Darkness, pressing around him like a leaden blanket, trapping him, pinning him, smothering him. Yin Chen couldn't breathe, and as he slowly regained his senses, what few ones which were viable to use, at least, he became aware of another important detail.

 _He was alive._

And as that thought occurred to him, as that reality sank in, he felt his surroundings. Yin Chen felt the bodies under him, beside him, above him. Those bodies, that which earlier had been struggling with heat and breath and life, were still and unmoving. Yin Chen ventured to poke a finger at one beside him.

It was cold as ice.

He recoiled quickly. An atrocious smell hit his nostrils, making his eyes water, but he had enough presence of mind to keep his breathing steady and conserve what air was still trapped with him. Urine, feces, even the beginnings of decay berated his nose, and it was at that moment that a pressing question came to Yin Chen's mind.

 _Why was he alive?_

He had clearly been in here for some time. Enough time for every last one of the other 459 poor souls to die, and enough time for them to even begin to decay. How was there enough air for him to still be alive? Why had he not suffocated with the rest of them? Why? Why? _Why?_

Yin Chen's mind raced so fast, so frantic, until he felt something move above him. He heard a rasp, the sound of cloth as it moved, felt warmth, a hand blindly touching his.

His mind froze.

"Yin Chen, is that you?" Wang Yao called out softly. Alive.

It shattered.

"Y-yes," he whispered. "How…?" he managed to venture.

"I'm not sure, me or you?" There seemed to be a hint of amusement in Wang Yao's voice. The amusement melted away as quickly as it had appeared, though, and his voice was steely with resolve. "I'll tell you later- if we get out of this, that is."

"What?" Yin Chen asked, perplexed. " _Get out?_ We'll surely still die here, it's simply a matter of time!"

"No." Wang Yao reprimanded firmly. Yin Chen was taken aback by the certainty in his voice, that, and the sliver of hope in his mind that pierced the darkness of the mass grave like a crystalline dagger.

"We'll survive this, my friend. Trust me. Now start digging."

* * *

The guard, stationed at the edge of the castle wall, having overseen the mass burial the emperor had carried out nearly two days prior, was bored at the current inactivity he now faced during his watch. His armor pressed on him like a mound of rocks- he could not wait to be out of the sun. The leather he wore was beginning to chafe, and he was greatly uncomfortable.

The guard shifted a bit, rolling his neck in a pathetic attempt to prevent stiffness. It didn't work, and he unhappily shifted his gaze to the dark wooden gate that would let him in, too long from now to be helpful, at all. The guard huffed frustratedly and turned back to the expanse of land in front of him…

And the two men who were stumbling towards him, some distance off.

They were covered in dirt and mud, with filthy ripped clothes, wild and unkempt hair, and a wealth of scuffs and cuts. One was even limping, leaning on the other with an arm around his shoulders and his long brown hair obscuring his face. The man stopped a moment and pulled his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. There was a large cut on his forehead, dripping blood into his eyes and staining his face with crimson rivulets, but the guard was focused on his eyes.

They were furious, burning with a fire of immeasurable intensity.

All of a sudden, a memory hit the guard like an arrow. There was a fool, a scholar, that had been a nuisance at the burial, with his incessant quips and jokes. The guard had struck him in the head with a nearby shovel to shut him up and keep the job moving smoothly.

And that scholar, who had been executed by burial two days prior, was staring at the guard with a fury and a _life_ that terrified him. He was faced with a monster.

The guard turned to the door swiftly and pounded the door with his fist.

"Summon his majesty!" he shouted.

* * *

Emperor Qin Shi Huang marched through the decadent halls of his palace, blinded to its brilliance by familiarity, urgency, and a vague sense of accomplishment. This was so preposterous, it might just be true! To think, what he was searching for had been right under his fingertips. But he couldn't get ahead of himself. This had to be some sort of trick. For if this was such a deception, someone would pay for the emperor's inconvenience. With their life.

He barked an order at the guards, who then flung open the magnificent doors to the throne room. Two mud-caked men kneeled on the floor. The emperor bypassed his throne, instead choosing to stride up to the two men, standing barely feet away from them.

At that moment, the emperor came to two conclusions, and two convictions.

Emperor Qin prided himself on being able to judge others at first glance. One man before him, on the right, looked at him with narrowed eyes which masked a glint of fear, with a dirty but otherwise unharmed appearance, with an intelligence that spoke of years of experience, with the beautiful yet flawed face that anyone of brilliance was sure to have.

This man was the immortal.

The other man, on the other hand, at the immortal's right, looked like he'd been through hell. His face had a large cut that had dripped blood all over his face, into his eyes, matting his hair. And he looked not at the emperor, but gazed dully at the wall behind him, the ceiling, the guards, all the while picking his nose.

This man, obviously, was not immortal. He did not have the intelligence, nor the unmarred appearance a being impervious to injury and death would. The emperor briefly entertained the thought that the dumb appearance of this one was simply an act. He dismissed it, though, as the subject of his observation proceeded to _stick his finger in his mouth_. Someone of power would have more dignity than that! The immortal must have taken a liking to him, like some sort of dumb pet dog, and decided to save him as well through some mysterious power of his.

The emperor knew exactly what he would do with these two.

"What are your names?" he asked imperiously.

"Y-Yin Chen," the immortal said in a small voice.

"Wang Yao," the dumb one said loudly.

The emperor turned to Yin Chen. "You shall work for me, and provide me with the secret to life eternal." The immortal man gaped like a fish, eyes widening in disbelief. "You shall be allowed to keep your dumb friend as well, as an assistant or whatever you would like to do with him. You are dismissed. Clean yourselves and get to work."

Emperor Qin exited as abruptly as he entered, leaving the two men still kneeling on the floor, frozen with shock.

The doors boomed shut behind the emperor, and as he retreated to his private chambers, he began planning. Yes, he already knew that dullard was useless to keep around, and he would need to insert his own assistant to help Yin Chen and oversee his progress. That, and he couldn't stand the sight of him.

"Summon the royal assassin!" he ordered his servant. "Tell them they have an assignment."

"Kill Wang Yao."

* * *

 **It's out of the frying pan and into the fire with these two, huh?**

 **Thank you dear readers for seeing this chapter all the way to the AN! I hope to keep this thing rolling as long as I can and include as many historical references as possible, but as far as ancient China I don't think any other major events will be mentioned… I could be wrong though. Please F &F, review, and thank you for reading!**

 **Historical context: Emperor Qin Shi Huang was obsessed with achieving immortality. Nuff said for this chapter, I think.**

 **Plot clarification: Yes, Wang Yao is the immortal one and Yin Chen is the mortal one. This just is the setup for many (hilarious) misunderstandings later. Bear with me, I apologize if that was confusing.**

 **Lots of love!**

 **~TheFullmetalSociopath**


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